School has ended! Cue the Alice Cooper. On top of that, I have now been at site for over six months. It must be reflection time! Not to get sentimental on you all, but here’s some of the things I’ve learned over the last six months of running conversation clubs and living and working in Ismayilli.
1. I need to plan lessons more. I think my classes have been well run for the most part, and the students who come have been enthusiastic, but there have been classes that have been pretty hectic over the last few months. Next fall I need to make myself build more constructive and involved lessons to really teach and strengthen my club lessons.
2. When I do English conversation clubs, I need to have smaller clubs. Part of why the clubs were so hectic was because there were too many kids. It would be a lot easier to get a smaller group of kids active.
3. Assemblies here are both wonderful and frustrating. At the English night assembly I attended, the students performed wonderful songs and short plays they had learned in English, but the audience spent the time talking to each other, talking on the phone, and coming and going. For every song, the keyboard player played the same rhythm, always overwhelming the kids’ singing, and never at the same rhythm as the song.
4. Cooking for myself every meal is wonderful. Especially as spring and summer arrive, more and more fruits and vegetables are available and absolutely delicious. It’s really a lot of fun figuring out how to cook different foods for the first time.
5. Cooking for myself every meal is hard. Even harder: cleaning dishes after every meal.
6. It’s easy to spend a lot of food splurges. I’m looking at you, 10 manat jar of honey which I ate way too quickly. I’m looking at you, Baku. Foul temptress.
7. Bucket showers in a building not connected to the house is nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be when I arrived. The stove heats the whole room. And now that it’s summer we’re using a normal showerhead, which is only difficult when lighting the gas heater with a long piece of newspaper.
8. It’s all in how you present an idea. My director has initially rejected several ideas I had, or tried to limit the projects, but with a little creative explanation of the goals of the projects and how it can benefit the school, he’s quick to get on board.
9. There are more important things than teaching English. Or going to America. As I’ve been here, my priorities have changed. I don’t want to just be an English teacher, I want my students to act on their ideas and dreams. There are days when I could really care less if they learned English. Of course English is important for some of those dreams, but not all.
10. I do need to work towards a more permanent, lasting, and sustainable project. I’ve been putting it off because of worries about whether the project was being suggested for the right reasons or if it was a “show off what the PCV gave us” idea. After the counterpart conference, I think the sustainable ideas are more clearly known to my organization.
Bonus Thing I’ll Have to Learn: I’m going to have to be creative this summer to keep students interested and involved because after the end of June, my school’s going to be locked, and I won’t have a place for clubs. Word of mouth will have its work cut out for it.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Thunderstorms and Lahij
Lately we’ve been having the most fantastic thunderstorms here in Ismayilli; thunderstorms that rattle the windows, shake the foundations of the house, thunderstorms that you can feel in your bones. Thunderstorms that seem more at home in the South Pacific during the monsoon season. It also hailed the other day.
In other shower news, we've started using our summer shower, which means no more bucket baths! Still have to light something to get hot water, but now we've got a real shower head and pretty decent pressure if you time it right (mostly mornings). My host family says they shower pretty much every day during the summer. Music to my ears.
And now for something you'll really like.
Last weekend, we went to Lahij (spelled here Lahic, because c’s are j’s here), a very old, small town near Ismayilli, that is a popular tourist visit during the summer and utterly cut off from the world during the winter. The reason being that the way one gets to Lahij is a windy, bumpy, unpaved road that creeps around the mountains of a river valley. During the winter, and in fact, any day with bad rain, the road becomes perilous (the fact that drivers hug the edge doesn’t help much either).
The day we set out looked like it would be one of these days. When I told my host mother we were going, she made us watch the weather report for about half an hour. Finally, she gave up and let us go. She was baffled by our decision to go, in part because we weren’t going guesting there; we were just going.
The road was exactly what we’d be warned. It keeps you on the edge of your seat, in fact quite literally as we bumped along the way. But as we climbed northward, the clouds dissipated and we could see the mountains betwixt we drove; towering mountains, with steep cliffs, sometimes due to dynamiting for the road.
Lahij is not much. It is basically one main road, a historical museum that was once a mosque, a communal hamam (shower/bath house) because they have only recently gotten running water, with no real hotel, no gas, and only two restaurants, one of which is a dark chayxana (tea place). What Lahij is, though, is relaxing. The streets are paved with river stones, and mostly too small for cars to pass. It is surrounded by beautiful green mountains and looks down on a once mighty river which sadly due to dams placed upriver has become distinctly diminished. Along the main road are a number of copper workers, for which Lahij is historically known, and stores with sheep wool hats, rugs, and coats. It reminded me of Colonial Williamsburg without the historical plaques on the buildings.
When we arrived we were escorted to the museum by one of the men who was on the marshrutka with us. There we encountered a group of government workers from Ismayilli who knew us all by name (eerie) and an impressively helpful and knowledgeable tourism office (helps to actually have something tourists come to see).
After the museum, we wandered down the main road towards the restaurant and village school on the other side. Un-amusing, we were not allowed to go into the school, which is just about the only school in Azerbaijan with murals on the walls, but amusingly, it turns out that the old woman who guards the school would also block the volunteer who worked there for two years from entering, until the school director would remind her that it was alright for him to come inside. Can’t imagine that was fun in February.
Lunch was kebab and fresh tomatoes and cheese, with sugary pear juice washing it all down. We sat on the top of a hill overlooking the river, covered by a green shade. By the time I got home, I was still filled with a lovely feeling of relaxation, which, try as it might, the bus ride home was unable to dislodge.
In other shower news, we've started using our summer shower, which means no more bucket baths! Still have to light something to get hot water, but now we've got a real shower head and pretty decent pressure if you time it right (mostly mornings). My host family says they shower pretty much every day during the summer. Music to my ears.
And now for something you'll really like.
Last weekend, we went to Lahij (spelled here Lahic, because c’s are j’s here), a very old, small town near Ismayilli, that is a popular tourist visit during the summer and utterly cut off from the world during the winter. The reason being that the way one gets to Lahij is a windy, bumpy, unpaved road that creeps around the mountains of a river valley. During the winter, and in fact, any day with bad rain, the road becomes perilous (the fact that drivers hug the edge doesn’t help much either).
The day we set out looked like it would be one of these days. When I told my host mother we were going, she made us watch the weather report for about half an hour. Finally, she gave up and let us go. She was baffled by our decision to go, in part because we weren’t going guesting there; we were just going.
The road was exactly what we’d be warned. It keeps you on the edge of your seat, in fact quite literally as we bumped along the way. But as we climbed northward, the clouds dissipated and we could see the mountains betwixt we drove; towering mountains, with steep cliffs, sometimes due to dynamiting for the road.
Lahij is not much. It is basically one main road, a historical museum that was once a mosque, a communal hamam (shower/bath house) because they have only recently gotten running water, with no real hotel, no gas, and only two restaurants, one of which is a dark chayxana (tea place). What Lahij is, though, is relaxing. The streets are paved with river stones, and mostly too small for cars to pass. It is surrounded by beautiful green mountains and looks down on a once mighty river which sadly due to dams placed upriver has become distinctly diminished. Along the main road are a number of copper workers, for which Lahij is historically known, and stores with sheep wool hats, rugs, and coats. It reminded me of Colonial Williamsburg without the historical plaques on the buildings.
When we arrived we were escorted to the museum by one of the men who was on the marshrutka with us. There we encountered a group of government workers from Ismayilli who knew us all by name (eerie) and an impressively helpful and knowledgeable tourism office (helps to actually have something tourists come to see).
After the museum, we wandered down the main road towards the restaurant and village school on the other side. Un-amusing, we were not allowed to go into the school, which is just about the only school in Azerbaijan with murals on the walls, but amusingly, it turns out that the old woman who guards the school would also block the volunteer who worked there for two years from entering, until the school director would remind her that it was alright for him to come inside. Can’t imagine that was fun in February.
Lunch was kebab and fresh tomatoes and cheese, with sugary pear juice washing it all down. We sat on the top of a hill overlooking the river, covered by a green shade. By the time I got home, I was still filled with a lovely feeling of relaxation, which, try as it might, the bus ride home was unable to dislodge.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Eurovision: Mubarak Azerbaijan!
The big news here in Az is that the country won this year's Eurovision Song Competition. For those who don't know (by which I mean pretty much all Americans, or everyone who reads my blog), Eurovision is a continent-wide American Idol-like competition that has been around since the 1950s, and is responsible for unleashing ABBA on the world, never to be the same again.
The winning duo from Azerbaijan, who won with a momentous 221 points, Ell and Nikko, sang their song "Running Scared." Since the win, a number of my students have asked me what it means to "run scared," to which I pantomime running and screaming. They think I'd be a good actor.
But back to Ell and Nikko, whose real names are Eldar and Nigar. They dominated the finals, and the second place country, Italy, only received 185 points.
According to overthinkingit.com, Azerbaijan is a powerhouse in Eurovision, despite is geographic flexibility ("The song was written by the same team that composed “Drip Drop,” Azerbaijan’s entry last year, which placed fifth overall. (The year before that, Azerbaijan placed third. As it turns out, they are a perennial Eurovision powerhouse.) This song is definitely going to make the finals..."). I never know where to say Azerbaijan is. It's not Europe, but it's not Asia, and it's not the Middle East. Where in the world is Azerbaijan? (Should be sung to the tune of a certain TV game show/video game.)
So, without any further ado, for your listening and viewing pleasure, here is the toast of Azerbaijan, Ell and Nikko, singing "Running Scared."
Now that Azerbaijan has won, they face the daunting task of hosting next year's contest. I can't wait to see how into the contest people here will be then.
The winning duo from Azerbaijan, who won with a momentous 221 points, Ell and Nikko, sang their song "Running Scared." Since the win, a number of my students have asked me what it means to "run scared," to which I pantomime running and screaming. They think I'd be a good actor.
But back to Ell and Nikko, whose real names are Eldar and Nigar. They dominated the finals, and the second place country, Italy, only received 185 points.
According to overthinkingit.com, Azerbaijan is a powerhouse in Eurovision, despite is geographic flexibility ("The song was written by the same team that composed “Drip Drop,” Azerbaijan’s entry last year, which placed fifth overall. (The year before that, Azerbaijan placed third. As it turns out, they are a perennial Eurovision powerhouse.) This song is definitely going to make the finals..."). I never know where to say Azerbaijan is. It's not Europe, but it's not Asia, and it's not the Middle East. Where in the world is Azerbaijan? (Should be sung to the tune of a certain TV game show/video game.)
So, without any further ado, for your listening and viewing pleasure, here is the toast of Azerbaijan, Ell and Nikko, singing "Running Scared."
Now that Azerbaijan has won, they face the daunting task of hosting next year's contest. I can't wait to see how into the contest people here will be then.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
The Ambassador Comes to Town
This past week, the new ambassador to Azerbaijan, Matthew Bryza, spent three days traveling through the rayons (regions) for the first time, visiting Peace Corps sites, as an introduction to Azerbaijan and a celebration of Peace Corps’ 50th anniversary. His first visit was to Ismayilli, and then on to Oguz, Sheki, Mingachevir, Ganja, and Dashkeshan (for those of you with a map, that’s all over the country).
After learning of the visit during our Early Service Training Conference, where we received a very broad outline of the trip (basically what I have just given you), we began planning for real. Amy, the first volunteer in Ismayilli and who till lives and works in Baku, would be in charge of planning the Ismayilli visit. Azerbaijan is a top-down bureaucracy, so it was necessary to alert each national office and regional office about the visit. On top of that, there would also be an entourage of Azeri reporters along for the ride, and the events that were to be planned had to also cater to the media and their interests.
For a while, the embassy said they did not want assemblies or speeches (I don’t particularly blame them for this, of course), but would not say what they did want. We knew they were planning a visit to the ExCom, the executive power governing body for each region, and a visit to my sitemate’s organization, a new organization that helps disabled children and their families. Eventually, they agreed to a visit to the biggest school in Ismayilli to showcase the past accomplishments inspired by volunteers and the future plans with us current volunteers. My students and the director were a bit bothered that he was not going to our school, but when the details of the visit were made more clear, they understood.
To show the broad influence of Peace Corps in Ismayilli, Amy coordinated a panel of speakers including English teachers from School Number 1, who worked with two volunteers, my counterpart, who has worked with several volunteers, two computer teachers, and my host brother who has just been accepted to the Muskie program, through which he will study at the University of Utah for two years. We invited representatives from every school and organization in the Ismayilli region that has hosted a volunteer in the past eight years.
The entire event would be MC-d by a student who met Amy when she was in fifth grade and is now about to graduate from high school. As her aspiration is to be a journalist, she acted as an interviewer exploring the influence of Peace Corps in the community. My students and I would be the grand finale, and two students were chosen (by popular vote by the other club members) to read the letters they had recently written to their American pen pals (“pen friends” to most Azeris).
The night before the event, we met with all the speakers to go over what they would say and to stress that they would only have a minute or two to say it in. Now, people here love assemblies, and there is a protocol to what is said. It took a bit of convincing that they should dispense with the formalities and go straight to the main ideas, given the length of the event. It was rewarding, however, to realize just how much their lives had been touched by their experiences with volunteers and how excited they were to talk about it.
The morning of the visit it was raining, and after way to long agonizing over what to wear (I blame color blindness), I trudged up the road to my school. Most of the students were there early, but we had a minor panic when one of the readers did not, and a search party was dispersed. Stretched out along the road, we made our way to School Number 1. Throughout the walk and the lead up to the event, my students continually asked me questions about the event, showing how nervous they were to possibly be on TV. One of the readers asked me several times if the news crews were going to ask him about his letter.
Ambassador Bryza was about a half hour late getting to Ismayilli, due to intense fog in the mountains along the road. When word came that he was on his way, we went out to the front yard to greet him. A few small children were there to give the ambassador flower bouquets.
The event went smoothly, though several teachers did go on for longer than expected. Everyone, including myself, spoke in Azeri, for the media, and Ambassador Bryza had an assistant translating for him. I was nervous about speaking in Azeri (it’s hard to sneakily practice a speech when you’re up on stage), but everyone was complimentary afterwards, and I don’t think I butchered it too much. My host brother told me only one word was difficult to understand, and in the video replay, it doesn’t seem like I “um”-ed as much as I thought I did on stage.
My students nervously climbed up to the stage for their readings, but I was proud of how well behaved they were. The ambassador rose and spoke to the audience afterwards, and then it was time for cake and photographs. He posed for several photos with my students, who weren’t quite sure what to think at first, with the camera bulbs flashing, but warmed up to it. They wanted to get their photos taken with a woman who was a former FLEX student, but were too nervous to ask her themselves, and had me approach her about getting their picture.
The entire time, the media milled about, filming random parts of the event, and afterwards approached me for a short interview (thankfully in English). I don’t know when the event will show up on TV, but they said they’d edit it to make me look good. The message of the event hopefully planted ideas in my students about goals for the future. The importance of trying new things, of working hard, of striving to meet one’s goals. These are the ideas I really want to share and spread at my school. These are ideas that are more important than having new computers to show off or simple test scores, or learning English just to go to America.
After learning of the visit during our Early Service Training Conference, where we received a very broad outline of the trip (basically what I have just given you), we began planning for real. Amy, the first volunteer in Ismayilli and who till lives and works in Baku, would be in charge of planning the Ismayilli visit. Azerbaijan is a top-down bureaucracy, so it was necessary to alert each national office and regional office about the visit. On top of that, there would also be an entourage of Azeri reporters along for the ride, and the events that were to be planned had to also cater to the media and their interests.
For a while, the embassy said they did not want assemblies or speeches (I don’t particularly blame them for this, of course), but would not say what they did want. We knew they were planning a visit to the ExCom, the executive power governing body for each region, and a visit to my sitemate’s organization, a new organization that helps disabled children and their families. Eventually, they agreed to a visit to the biggest school in Ismayilli to showcase the past accomplishments inspired by volunteers and the future plans with us current volunteers. My students and the director were a bit bothered that he was not going to our school, but when the details of the visit were made more clear, they understood.
The entire event would be MC-d by a student who met Amy when she was in fifth grade and is now about to graduate from high school. As her aspiration is to be a journalist, she acted as an interviewer exploring the influence of Peace Corps in the community. My students and I would be the grand finale, and two students were chosen (by popular vote by the other club members) to read the letters they had recently written to their American pen pals (“pen friends” to most Azeris).
The night before the event, we met with all the speakers to go over what they would say and to stress that they would only have a minute or two to say it in. Now, people here love assemblies, and there is a protocol to what is said. It took a bit of convincing that they should dispense with the formalities and go straight to the main ideas, given the length of the event. It was rewarding, however, to realize just how much their lives had been touched by their experiences with volunteers and how excited they were to talk about it.
The morning of the visit it was raining, and after way to long agonizing over what to wear (I blame color blindness), I trudged up the road to my school. Most of the students were there early, but we had a minor panic when one of the readers did not, and a search party was dispersed. Stretched out along the road, we made our way to School Number 1. Throughout the walk and the lead up to the event, my students continually asked me questions about the event, showing how nervous they were to possibly be on TV. One of the readers asked me several times if the news crews were going to ask him about his letter.
The event went smoothly, though several teachers did go on for longer than expected. Everyone, including myself, spoke in Azeri, for the media, and Ambassador Bryza had an assistant translating for him. I was nervous about speaking in Azeri (it’s hard to sneakily practice a speech when you’re up on stage), but everyone was complimentary afterwards, and I don’t think I butchered it too much. My host brother told me only one word was difficult to understand, and in the video replay, it doesn’t seem like I “um”-ed as much as I thought I did on stage.
The entire time, the media milled about, filming random parts of the event, and afterwards approached me for a short interview (thankfully in English). I don’t know when the event will show up on TV, but they said they’d edit it to make me look good. The message of the event hopefully planted ideas in my students about goals for the future. The importance of trying new things, of working hard, of striving to meet one’s goals. These are the ideas I really want to share and spread at my school. These are ideas that are more important than having new computers to show off or simple test scores, or learning English just to go to America.
A Chapter Closed
News of the death of Osama bin Laden has reached us here in Azerbaijan. A text message sent out by the CD erroneously announced that President Obama had gone on the air to speak about the death of “Obama bin Laden,” something that certainly won’t help Obama’s fight against the Birthers and those that pay too much attention to his middle name.
Ten years ago, I came home from a Boy Scout meeting to see the live coverage of the World Trade Centers falling. We didn’t know exactly what was going on, but knew that the attack had caused a huge amount of damage and deaths. On the other side of the world we still felt the repercussions. Friends went home, recalled by the government or by their companies. Security was raised at the school. I listened repeatedly to the Concert for NY album. Just as for those who were in the United States, it was a time that we could never forget, but I always noticed how different and slightly distant the effects of the event were in Indonesia. I was more directly touched by the bombing of a nightclub on the island of Bali in 2002, in which a teacher from our school died.
I can’t help feeling that it is a bit fitting that just as I was abroad for the events of 9/11 and the immediate aftermath, I am abroad now, as the man who claimed to be the mastermind behind the attacks, Osama bin Laden, has been killed. Even though bin Laden’s death does not mark the end of al-Qaeda, nor does it mean the end of the War on Terror, his death does create a symbolic bookend.
Here I am, abroad again, just as I was when the towers fell. But it is not just as it was, for the world has changed, and I have changed, in the past ten years. I was in middle school in 2001. I lived in a rented house in Jakarta with my family. We had a maid, a driver, a gardener, just as most expats in Indonesia did. Now, I live with another family, an Azerbaijani family, though a family I can still call my own in a way. I work at a middle school. I shop and cook for myself. In these past ten years, I have adapted to American high school life, participated in an exchange program in Japan, gone to college, studied abroad in India, graduated from college, and entered the Peace Corps in Azerbaijan. I have grown physically, of course, but have also changed in other ways as well.
There have been constants, as well. There are people, two friends in particular, who have been with me over that time. One predated Indonesia, one I met there. And though I am on the far side of the world, they are still my friends, people I would not want to be without. In the ten years that have passed, what has bin Laden’s life been like? Has he had friends that he has been in contact with this whole time? Has he changed in these ten years? He has become such a symbol for the fight against terrorism that it is easy not to think of him as a person, but an evil entity that lurks in caves and makes videos condemning America and the West, or a cartoon character lampooned by the likes of South Park or Family Guy. I wonder if, at the end, when his life came to a close, how he looked back at the ten years that have passed since the attack in New York.
Ten years ago, I came home from a Boy Scout meeting to see the live coverage of the World Trade Centers falling. We didn’t know exactly what was going on, but knew that the attack had caused a huge amount of damage and deaths. On the other side of the world we still felt the repercussions. Friends went home, recalled by the government or by their companies. Security was raised at the school. I listened repeatedly to the Concert for NY album. Just as for those who were in the United States, it was a time that we could never forget, but I always noticed how different and slightly distant the effects of the event were in Indonesia. I was more directly touched by the bombing of a nightclub on the island of Bali in 2002, in which a teacher from our school died.
I can’t help feeling that it is a bit fitting that just as I was abroad for the events of 9/11 and the immediate aftermath, I am abroad now, as the man who claimed to be the mastermind behind the attacks, Osama bin Laden, has been killed. Even though bin Laden’s death does not mark the end of al-Qaeda, nor does it mean the end of the War on Terror, his death does create a symbolic bookend.
Here I am, abroad again, just as I was when the towers fell. But it is not just as it was, for the world has changed, and I have changed, in the past ten years. I was in middle school in 2001. I lived in a rented house in Jakarta with my family. We had a maid, a driver, a gardener, just as most expats in Indonesia did. Now, I live with another family, an Azerbaijani family, though a family I can still call my own in a way. I work at a middle school. I shop and cook for myself. In these past ten years, I have adapted to American high school life, participated in an exchange program in Japan, gone to college, studied abroad in India, graduated from college, and entered the Peace Corps in Azerbaijan. I have grown physically, of course, but have also changed in other ways as well.
There have been constants, as well. There are people, two friends in particular, who have been with me over that time. One predated Indonesia, one I met there. And though I am on the far side of the world, they are still my friends, people I would not want to be without. In the ten years that have passed, what has bin Laden’s life been like? Has he had friends that he has been in contact with this whole time? Has he changed in these ten years? He has become such a symbol for the fight against terrorism that it is easy not to think of him as a person, but an evil entity that lurks in caves and makes videos condemning America and the West, or a cartoon character lampooned by the likes of South Park or Family Guy. I wonder if, at the end, when his life came to a close, how he looked back at the ten years that have passed since the attack in New York.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
The Surreality of Easter in Azerbaijan
Visiting Baku is always a good break from life at site, and more often than not, more than a little surreal. This last trip just about took the cake, though. All of my year’s YD and CED volunteers came to Baku Thursday for our Early Service Training, an in-service training conference. It was weird, first of all, to see all the YDs again after four months. Some I’ve seen here and there over that time, but never at the same time. Peace Corps put us up in a hotel somewhat near to the Peace Corps office (though not as close as the map they gave us made it seem). Soft beds, normal-sized pillows, and a proper shower with good water pressure that never ran out of hot water. If that ain’t surreal, I don’t know what is.
The conference lasted all day Friday. While a nice chance to catch up and hear about others’ work, we were all glad when the day ended. We were finally free to take advantage of Baku, something we hadn’t been allowed to do during the weekend since March due to the occurrence of protests against the government in downtown Baku. And so we had another strange experience, eating Indian and Chinese food, relaxing at bars, being out at night. At the Chinese restaurant, we even had some fun with the karaoke machine.
The next day, I made arrangements for Easter. I would go, along with a few other volunteers, to a church service. I decided instead of paying for another night in Baku, which would cost money, to stay in Xirdalan with Rashad, my former LCF. He was working all day, so we spent the day wandering Baku, and happened upon a gelato shop, and a hidden ping pong/games den. Through the back of a shop, in a large former theatre, Narnia Ping Pong (our name) caters to those who want to play ping pong, air hockey, pool and some video games. A mural of the Marlboro man adorns one wall, and another wall bears an image of Samson breaking free of the pillars. We encountered an 80-year old man who beat everyone who played against him.
And so we come to Easter. I slipped out of Rashad’s house shortly after he’d gone off to work, and headed off, one bus ride and one five-stop metro ride, to meet the others at a bus stop near McDonald’s.
The church, Baku International Fellowship, is not itself a church, but meets in the auditorium of the Baku International School. This was the time that tipped the weekend over the edge. To enter the grounds, we had to pass through a security checkpoint, and upon entering the lobby, where there was coffee(!), I was stunned. Everywehre I looked, foreigners. Speaking English. I was happy to be at the service, even though it wasn’t entirely what I was hoping for. The music was a bit more in the contemporary music vein for my taste, though they did the Hallelujah chorus to end the service, and the sermon used a Powerpoint presentation, which seems off to me. There was nothing wrong with the service, just not always to my tastes or ideas of what church and Easter should usually be. (I made up for some of it by making Easter eggs when I got back to Ismayilli.)
Being at the school reminded me intensely and immediately of my time at Jakarta International School in Indonesia. My life now is very different from the life I led in Indonesia. The people at the church often did not know Azeri, and some had not traveled much in the regions. They shopped at supermarkets with foods imported from Europe and America. They live in modern buildings with air conditioning and central/good heating, with showers and washing machines, and indoor bathrooms with flushing toilets. This was the life I led in Indonesia for the most part. My school there offered opportunities to travel to the islands of Indonesia, to see and experience and learn about the cultures. But we didn’t live there. It was separate. We always had our comfortable homes in Jakarta to go back to in the end.
Is one lifestyle better than the other? Does one group help people and lead to better change than the other? Now that I’ve lived on both sides of the expat aid worker spectrum, I can’t help wondering. It is obvious that our lives are different, that life in Baku is very different from life in the regions. Knowing Baku is different from knowing Azerbaijan, but knowing the regions is also different from knowing Azerbaijan. The anthropologist in me believes it is important to learn the language to know a people, and to live amongst them. It’s in fact hard not to think that I know better than they do because of where I live and how I live. But is this really the best way to cause the change we say we want to inspire? Or is it better to work with the governments to enact that change in policy which will lead to new teaching supplies and techniques, new agricultural equipment, and so on? Probably, both are needed to make the world a better place. The grassroots and the governmental aide working together. But we don’t speak to each other about our work. They don’t ask for our opinions, and we don’t seek them out for help. Why is that? Why is there so little connection between the organizations? Is there some ideological rationale, or is this just the way it is? These questions are truly worth asking to determine whether or not we can actually change things, whether what we do here is worth doing. I just don't have the answers yet.
The conference lasted all day Friday. While a nice chance to catch up and hear about others’ work, we were all glad when the day ended. We were finally free to take advantage of Baku, something we hadn’t been allowed to do during the weekend since March due to the occurrence of protests against the government in downtown Baku. And so we had another strange experience, eating Indian and Chinese food, relaxing at bars, being out at night. At the Chinese restaurant, we even had some fun with the karaoke machine.
The next day, I made arrangements for Easter. I would go, along with a few other volunteers, to a church service. I decided instead of paying for another night in Baku, which would cost money, to stay in Xirdalan with Rashad, my former LCF. He was working all day, so we spent the day wandering Baku, and happened upon a gelato shop, and a hidden ping pong/games den. Through the back of a shop, in a large former theatre, Narnia Ping Pong (our name) caters to those who want to play ping pong, air hockey, pool and some video games. A mural of the Marlboro man adorns one wall, and another wall bears an image of Samson breaking free of the pillars. We encountered an 80-year old man who beat everyone who played against him.
And so we come to Easter. I slipped out of Rashad’s house shortly after he’d gone off to work, and headed off, one bus ride and one five-stop metro ride, to meet the others at a bus stop near McDonald’s.
The church, Baku International Fellowship, is not itself a church, but meets in the auditorium of the Baku International School. This was the time that tipped the weekend over the edge. To enter the grounds, we had to pass through a security checkpoint, and upon entering the lobby, where there was coffee(!), I was stunned. Everywehre I looked, foreigners. Speaking English. I was happy to be at the service, even though it wasn’t entirely what I was hoping for. The music was a bit more in the contemporary music vein for my taste, though they did the Hallelujah chorus to end the service, and the sermon used a Powerpoint presentation, which seems off to me. There was nothing wrong with the service, just not always to my tastes or ideas of what church and Easter should usually be. (I made up for some of it by making Easter eggs when I got back to Ismayilli.)
Being at the school reminded me intensely and immediately of my time at Jakarta International School in Indonesia. My life now is very different from the life I led in Indonesia. The people at the church often did not know Azeri, and some had not traveled much in the regions. They shopped at supermarkets with foods imported from Europe and America. They live in modern buildings with air conditioning and central/good heating, with showers and washing machines, and indoor bathrooms with flushing toilets. This was the life I led in Indonesia for the most part. My school there offered opportunities to travel to the islands of Indonesia, to see and experience and learn about the cultures. But we didn’t live there. It was separate. We always had our comfortable homes in Jakarta to go back to in the end.
Is one lifestyle better than the other? Does one group help people and lead to better change than the other? Now that I’ve lived on both sides of the expat aid worker spectrum, I can’t help wondering. It is obvious that our lives are different, that life in Baku is very different from life in the regions. Knowing Baku is different from knowing Azerbaijan, but knowing the regions is also different from knowing Azerbaijan. The anthropologist in me believes it is important to learn the language to know a people, and to live amongst them. It’s in fact hard not to think that I know better than they do because of where I live and how I live. But is this really the best way to cause the change we say we want to inspire? Or is it better to work with the governments to enact that change in policy which will lead to new teaching supplies and techniques, new agricultural equipment, and so on? Probably, both are needed to make the world a better place. The grassroots and the governmental aide working together. But we don’t speak to each other about our work. They don’t ask for our opinions, and we don’t seek them out for help. Why is that? Why is there so little connection between the organizations? Is there some ideological rationale, or is this just the way it is? These questions are truly worth asking to determine whether or not we can actually change things, whether what we do here is worth doing. I just don't have the answers yet.
Being a Grown-Up: Cooking
Staring at the beginning of April, I began cooking for myself. It has not always been easy. Cooking three meals a day—three full meals with enough calories, nutrients, and vitamins—is difficult, I’ve found. For a while, my refrigerator was out of commission and I had to use my host family’s fridge or hope things wouldn’t go bad too quickly. This was mostly okay since it has been cold outside more often than not. Knowing it wouldn’t last, however, I buckled down and spent the money on a new power stabilizer. So now I have cold milk, frozen chicken, and spinach that doesn’t go bad in two days.
The downside to the cold climate that has been so persistent through the last month is that it means everyone’s using the gas for heat and cooking. I’ve had a couple cooking failures due to low gas. My first attempt at fried rice ended up in dried out rice because the heat took so long to cook everything.
I’ve had some successes as well. I splurged and bought the vegetables needed to cook a proper Mexican food feast. The required vegetables won’t be cheap for another month or so. But I wanted my fajitas, so I did it. And oh, was it worth it. I made refried beans the night before, then fajitas with chicken, bell peppers, onions, tomatoes, sour cream, cheese and lavash (basically tortillas).
I’ve gotten pretty good also at potatoes (though trying to make French fries was downright painful), noodles, lentils, and mixing all of the above together when need be. I also had success making rice and beans. It took awhile to get the protein levels up, but I’ve started buying sausage and chicken, so I’ve got something besides lentils now.
Thank goodness spring is coming, or I’d be in trouble. I worry about getting enough fruits and vegetables, and oranges are still expensive, but everything’s getting better. I’ve started to see eggplant, tomatoes and bell peppers. I’ve heard other places have seen strawberries, too. Winter will be painful, but for now, food is getting more exciting, more varied, and more delicious. I just need to learn how to cook an eggplant now.
The downside to the cold climate that has been so persistent through the last month is that it means everyone’s using the gas for heat and cooking. I’ve had a couple cooking failures due to low gas. My first attempt at fried rice ended up in dried out rice because the heat took so long to cook everything.
I’ve had some successes as well. I splurged and bought the vegetables needed to cook a proper Mexican food feast. The required vegetables won’t be cheap for another month or so. But I wanted my fajitas, so I did it. And oh, was it worth it. I made refried beans the night before, then fajitas with chicken, bell peppers, onions, tomatoes, sour cream, cheese and lavash (basically tortillas).
I’ve gotten pretty good also at potatoes (though trying to make French fries was downright painful), noodles, lentils, and mixing all of the above together when need be. I also had success making rice and beans. It took awhile to get the protein levels up, but I’ve started buying sausage and chicken, so I’ve got something besides lentils now.
Thank goodness spring is coming, or I’d be in trouble. I worry about getting enough fruits and vegetables, and oranges are still expensive, but everything’s getting better. I’ve started to see eggplant, tomatoes and bell peppers. I’ve heard other places have seen strawberries, too. Winter will be painful, but for now, food is getting more exciting, more varied, and more delicious. I just need to learn how to cook an eggplant now.
Getting Through With Laughs and News. Mostly Laughs, Though.
The life of a Peace Corps volunteer is not an easy one. I have been fortunate enough to have regular free Internet access, which has helped with contact with the outside world. But sometimes just having contact isn’t enough, and I must turn to certain websites for the pick me ups necessary to get through the day. As that comes off sound worse than it is, I think I should get on straight to the main website in question: Stuff Expat Aid Workers Like.
The website lays out the numerous common preoccupations, obsessions and preferences of Expat Aid Workers, a group I’ve had a considerable amount of experience with, whilst living in Indonesia, and now as an Expat Aid Worker in my own right.
Highlights of the site, which are particularly accurate and amusing include:
Planning air travel—because as much as we enjoy our work, it’s exciting to think about getting a break
Bad English—We know our Azeri is bad, but we still get a kick out of humorously mistranslated sentences.
Facebook—How else could we show off the work we’re doing in the exotic places we’re doing it in?
Hot showers—Heavenly. I loved returning to long hot showers of the non-bucket variety while in Scotland.
Pets—We’re lonely. Pets love us no matter what, as long as we feed them.
Blending in—I want nothing more than to blend in most days. But, I’ll always be a thin, blonde white guy. I need to find an exotic long lost culture of pale white folks. Where’s Atlantis when you need it?
Jargon—We stole this one from the army. Peace Corrps (PC) discussions are full of acronyms and technical terms
Personal Drama—What else do we have to talk about? Long live gossip, and the emotional roller coaster ride!
The other site worth sharing is Eurasia News. This is the best site I’ve found for Azerbaijan-related news. It also covers the news for other countries in the area, most interestingly the neighbor commonly known as Kansas. Honestly, this is the site I use to find out about what’s going on in the country around me. The television news is run by the government, and my Azeri isn’t good enough to read one of the opposition newspapers. So I turn to this website.
One final thing that helps get me through is my amusement with the Azeri obsessions with certain celebrities. My students love Shakira and Michael Jackson. For the registration form for Writing Olympics, we asked what the students’ special talents were. One student wrote: “I can dance as Shakira.” The best obsession I’ve noticed is with Robertino Noretti/Loretti, an Italian opera singer.
Another good obsession is with cross-dressing. Homosexuality might still be off-limits, but boy do Azeris get a kick out of cross-dressing. A while ago, I watched the Big Momma’s House series on Azeri TV. They loved it. Easy to understand physical comedy and a guy in a fat suit, dress, and wig. What else do you need?
The website lays out the numerous common preoccupations, obsessions and preferences of Expat Aid Workers, a group I’ve had a considerable amount of experience with, whilst living in Indonesia, and now as an Expat Aid Worker in my own right.
Highlights of the site, which are particularly accurate and amusing include:
Planning air travel—because as much as we enjoy our work, it’s exciting to think about getting a break
Bad English—We know our Azeri is bad, but we still get a kick out of humorously mistranslated sentences.
Facebook—How else could we show off the work we’re doing in the exotic places we’re doing it in?
Hot showers—Heavenly. I loved returning to long hot showers of the non-bucket variety while in Scotland.
Pets—We’re lonely. Pets love us no matter what, as long as we feed them.
Blending in—I want nothing more than to blend in most days. But, I’ll always be a thin, blonde white guy. I need to find an exotic long lost culture of pale white folks. Where’s Atlantis when you need it?
Jargon—We stole this one from the army. Peace Corrps (PC) discussions are full of acronyms and technical terms
Personal Drama—What else do we have to talk about? Long live gossip, and the emotional roller coaster ride!
The other site worth sharing is Eurasia News. This is the best site I’ve found for Azerbaijan-related news. It also covers the news for other countries in the area, most interestingly the neighbor commonly known as Kansas. Honestly, this is the site I use to find out about what’s going on in the country around me. The television news is run by the government, and my Azeri isn’t good enough to read one of the opposition newspapers. So I turn to this website.
One final thing that helps get me through is my amusement with the Azeri obsessions with certain celebrities. My students love Shakira and Michael Jackson. For the registration form for Writing Olympics, we asked what the students’ special talents were. One student wrote: “I can dance as Shakira.” The best obsession I’ve noticed is with Robertino Noretti/Loretti, an Italian opera singer.
Another good obsession is with cross-dressing. Homosexuality might still be off-limits, but boy do Azeris get a kick out of cross-dressing. A while ago, I watched the Big Momma’s House series on Azeri TV. They loved it. Easy to understand physical comedy and a guy in a fat suit, dress, and wig. What else do you need?
Monday, April 4, 2011
To the Market
I've begun cooking for myself. On Sunday, my host mother took me to the bazaar in town. Now, I've been to the bazaar a number of times, but it was still important to her that she go with me, partly to ensure I get the right prices for things, partly I'm sure because she doubted whether I could tell a good potato from a cumquat. It was actually nice having her there to point me to her usual sellers. The bazaar is a mess on Sundays, as people from all around the region set up shop in a large courtyard/parking lot area. It's packed with people selling their fruits and vegetables on tarps, or out of the trunk of their car, or on the hood of their car, while some bring small wooden tables to set up. The usuals pay for a booth under a hanger, but that's not where the good deals are, I would learn.
Another thing I learned is that Azeri potatoes are better than Pakistani potatoes. My host mother went up and down the rows of vendors, asking where their potatoes were from, and time and time again they would answer Pakistan, knowing full well that that meant she would pass them by. Finally we found Azeri potatoes, and I am now the proud owner of 2 kilos of them.
I also bought:
Cilantro
Spinach
Lentils
Rice
Spaghetti
Eggs
Garlic
Salt and Pepper
Dish Soap and Scrubber
Laundry Detergent
My own teapot
Olive Oil
Butter
If you know any good recipes, I am all ears. My first real meal was fried rice, which turned out well considering there was almost no gas for the flame. It got cold again here, and the gas was being used by people most of the day. Come back, spring weather!
Another thing I learned is that Azeri potatoes are better than Pakistani potatoes. My host mother went up and down the rows of vendors, asking where their potatoes were from, and time and time again they would answer Pakistan, knowing full well that that meant she would pass them by. Finally we found Azeri potatoes, and I am now the proud owner of 2 kilos of them.
I also bought:
Cilantro
Spinach
Lentils
Rice
Spaghetti
Eggs
Garlic
Salt and Pepper
Dish Soap and Scrubber
Laundry Detergent
My own teapot
Olive Oil
Butter
If you know any good recipes, I am all ears. My first real meal was fried rice, which turned out well considering there was almost no gas for the flame. It got cold again here, and the gas was being used by people most of the day. Come back, spring weather!
Friday, April 1, 2011
Goodbye Childhood
Another day, another step in the transition to adulthood. Today, I deleted my hotmail account.
On the surface not a big deal--I haven't really used that account since before college. It was replaced by my college email and then by my gmail account. But the hotmail account was a tie to my past. First created in Indonesia, using my JIS ID number, it gave me a tie to an important part of my life. It is sad, in a way, the way the email became a dumping ground for spam emails and newsletters I wanted to sign up for for one free giveaway--a free song download or something along those lines. And now that it is gone completely, something I feel I had to do to stop the spread of some perceived virus, does that mean my past is gone? No, it doesn't, it means only that I am not the person who created the email account. The boy who sat at a computer in Jakarta is not gone, but merely a part of the developing man who has had many experiences since then, and will continue to have experiences for hopefully many years to come.
The account was deleted because, when I checked it today, which I do periodically because my grandparents for some reason still send emails to that account even though I have told them countless times not to send things to it, that I have a new email, that I don't check it frequently...when I checked it today, I found an email to myself and a number of rejected senders emails. I didn't remember sending anything to myself, but not ruling it out because sometimes hotmail works faster than gmail on slow computers here, I opened the email. The only thing inside was a link. Guessing it might be a virus (and never knowing whether just opening the email activates the virus or clicking on the link) I quickly close and delete the email and then assuming that the virus did the typical virus thing and emailed itself to everyone in my contact list, prepared an email to everyone I could think of. Fortunately, I feel like this won't be a major issue, as many people no longer use or check the emails they did 10 years ago. But some emails are still on the books, and to those people I sent warning letters.
And then I decided it was best, in case this should happen again somehow, that I should delete my account. Actually, before I had completely committed to that plan of action, I deleted all of my contacts. It was amusing and a bit sad to see how few people from the contact list I still kept in touch with. Besides my family, who I do still talk to of course, there were people from Boy Scouts, from Indonesia, from high school. What happened to those people I wonder. Where are they now? What are they doing and are they happy? What would they think of me being here in Azerbaijan as a Peace Corps volunteer? Would they even remember me? I don't really remember all of them. Some were one-time emails, for a school project, or for camping trip preparation. Some were friends, some of them very good friends, people I thought I would stay in contact with for the rest of my life. And in all but a few exceptions, I’ve lost track of them. By the time we found each other again on Facebook, as I have with some people, it was mostly too late for a real friendship to be rekindled. I am happy with my life, with the friends I have, and do not believe I would change the course of my life, but I cannot help but wonder how my life would have been altered if I were still in contact with master_monkey or jclark01. Wherever they are, whoever they are, I hope they remember me as fondly as I remember them, and hope they too are becoming the adults they want to be, the adults that seemed so far off when we knew each other.
On the surface not a big deal--I haven't really used that account since before college. It was replaced by my college email and then by my gmail account. But the hotmail account was a tie to my past. First created in Indonesia, using my JIS ID number, it gave me a tie to an important part of my life. It is sad, in a way, the way the email became a dumping ground for spam emails and newsletters I wanted to sign up for for one free giveaway--a free song download or something along those lines. And now that it is gone completely, something I feel I had to do to stop the spread of some perceived virus, does that mean my past is gone? No, it doesn't, it means only that I am not the person who created the email account. The boy who sat at a computer in Jakarta is not gone, but merely a part of the developing man who has had many experiences since then, and will continue to have experiences for hopefully many years to come.
The account was deleted because, when I checked it today, which I do periodically because my grandparents for some reason still send emails to that account even though I have told them countless times not to send things to it, that I have a new email, that I don't check it frequently...when I checked it today, I found an email to myself and a number of rejected senders emails. I didn't remember sending anything to myself, but not ruling it out because sometimes hotmail works faster than gmail on slow computers here, I opened the email. The only thing inside was a link. Guessing it might be a virus (and never knowing whether just opening the email activates the virus or clicking on the link) I quickly close and delete the email and then assuming that the virus did the typical virus thing and emailed itself to everyone in my contact list, prepared an email to everyone I could think of. Fortunately, I feel like this won't be a major issue, as many people no longer use or check the emails they did 10 years ago. But some emails are still on the books, and to those people I sent warning letters.
And then I decided it was best, in case this should happen again somehow, that I should delete my account. Actually, before I had completely committed to that plan of action, I deleted all of my contacts. It was amusing and a bit sad to see how few people from the contact list I still kept in touch with. Besides my family, who I do still talk to of course, there were people from Boy Scouts, from Indonesia, from high school. What happened to those people I wonder. Where are they now? What are they doing and are they happy? What would they think of me being here in Azerbaijan as a Peace Corps volunteer? Would they even remember me? I don't really remember all of them. Some were one-time emails, for a school project, or for camping trip preparation. Some were friends, some of them very good friends, people I thought I would stay in contact with for the rest of my life. And in all but a few exceptions, I’ve lost track of them. By the time we found each other again on Facebook, as I have with some people, it was mostly too late for a real friendship to be rekindled. I am happy with my life, with the friends I have, and do not believe I would change the course of my life, but I cannot help but wonder how my life would have been altered if I were still in contact with master_monkey or jclark01. Wherever they are, whoever they are, I hope they remember me as fondly as I remember them, and hope they too are becoming the adults they want to be, the adults that seemed so far off when we knew each other.
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